


Get to the Point

by norgbelulah



Series: Set Fire to This House [9]
Category: Justified
Genre: Anal Sex, Come Shot, Domestic, Established Relationship, Intoxication, M/M, Marijuana, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/pseuds/norgbelulah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raylan brings Boyd home something from a crime scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get to the Point

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set during the time in which Boyd is living with Raylan and going to school in Lexington. 
> 
> We'll see how chronology pans out with these filler fics, but this one happens the break between spring and summer sessions of Boyd's first school year.
> 
> The filler fics will probably not be written or posted in order. I reserve the right to change their order in the future, but for now they will be numbered in the order that I write them.

Raylan tossed the clear plastic bag onto the kitchen table as he came in. 

It was after eight and Boyd was clearing his dinner. He looked back over his shoulder at what Raylan had brought in. He stopped mid-motion, frowning. “Baby, are you trying to entrap me?”

In the bag were three buds and a small stack of rolling papers.

Raylan shrugged. “This mysterious thing fell out of a suspect’s pocket as he was being taken away, Boyd. I couldn’t really make heads or tails of it. Thought you might want to give it a go.”

Boyd turned back to the sink and carefully set his dishes down, before he looked back at the table, then squarely at Raylan. “This mysterious thing, huh?” he deadpanned.

“The charge was unrelated, and nobody saw that he dropped it. Possession won’t add any jail time, he was already going away for a while. I gotta work early tomorrow, but I... thought you might want to celebrate the end of the semester,” Raylan said with a lopsided smile as a grin spread across Boyd’s face.

“Raylan, had I known you were so amenable to an occasional partaking of such a vice, I would have broached the subject...” he paused to laugh, “fucking years ago.”

Now Raylan felt sort of bad. It wasn’t something he’d thought about before, not until that little bag fell out of Jared’s pocket and got kicked under the table of his smoke-infused hidey-hole. 

He’d just remembered the time Boyd had produced some weed after a particularly nerve-wracking shift under the mountain. They’d smoked a bit--using a corn-cob pipe Boyd said he’d stole from his grandfather when he was twelve--out under the stars with half a jar of shine between them. The weed hadn’t really done much more than relax Raylan’s muscles until he was too drowsy to stay awake. But the last thing he remembered before drifting off was that he’d liked, so much, the look on Boyd’s face. He’d loved the looseness of his smile.

Boyd came over and picked up the bag, getting in Raylan’s space in the process. He opened it up and lifted it to his face, sniffing deeply. “Oh man, baby, this shit smells good,” he said, dragging out the last word excitedly.

Raylan grinned. He never had a nose for it, only ever took part because Boyd wanted him to--and never after he came back a Marshal. He supposed Boyd assumed--mostly rightly--that he wouldn’t be able to because of the nature of his government job. But he’d had a drug test just two weeks before and he’d written in the report he’d come in contact with THC at Jared’s place. The room had been thick with smoke. If they surprised him with a spot test, which they wouldn’t, he’d get a free pass for that.

“I’m glad,” he said, leaning in to kiss Boyd’s temple.

“There’s a pork chop and some rice-a-roni in the fridge for you,” Boyd told him, reaching for the fruit bowl on the table. “You got a pen?”

Raylan produced one from inside his jacket, but held it back as Boyd reached for it, without looking. “What the hell are you up to? You ain’t gonna roll it in them papers?”

Boyd gave Raylan an incredulous look. “Baby,” he said. “Joints are for lazy-asses and greenhorns. We got an apple, I’m making a piece, okay? I left my pipe in Harlan.”

Raylan pulled out his pocket knife too and Boyd took them both, the knife between his first and second finger and the knife between the second and the third. He made a kissing face at Raylan, who laughed and walked away, very willing to let him do whatever the fuck he wanted with the shit.

As Raylan pulled the food, carefully stored in plastic tupperware, out of the fridge and popped it in the nuker, Boyd asked, “You gonna smoke with me, since your test don’t count?”

Raylan made a face. “Nah, I’d just fall asleep anyway,” he said. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at Boyd boring the first of however many holes into that damn apple, who smirked at him. “I wanna watch you get blazed.”

“I know you do,” Boyd teased. “You fucking weirdo.”

By the time the food was done and Raylan had sat down to eat, Boyd had his apple pipe completed and he was carefully loading it up with the bud. Raylan remembered a nineteen-year-old Boyd telling him in a superior tone, “Packing is a goddamn art, son.”

When he was finished, he looked around the kitchen frowning. “Where’s the lighter?” 

He got up and clawed through the junk drawer for a minute as Raylan said between mouthfuls of rice, “We got that long one on top of the stove for lighting the gas range.”

Boyd snorted. “If you think I’m smoking this pipe with a _wand_ , baby, you got another thing coming. They sell ‘em down the bar, don’t they?”

“Yeah for like a buck or two.” And Boyd was off.

Raylan was finished with the food by the time he came back, with a half a bottle of Wild Turkey in tow, the twelve year old kind.

Raylan lifted his brows. "We gonna add that onto the rent?"

"I told Lindsey we were celebrating tonight. She let me have it,” Boyd replied, tilting the bottle towards Raylan enticingly. “I figured you’d want something in your glass, you’re just gonna creepily watch me all evening.”

“More entertaining than a movie, probably,” Raylan said, reaching for it.

“Only if you want to watch Shawshank again, for the millionth time,” Boyd grumbled.

“You love it!” Raylan grabbed at him and pulled him close, tangling his fingers up with Boyd’s and around the lighter he’d bought. It was bright pink with flowers on it. When he gave Boyd a look, all he said was, “It was that or the confederate flag.”

“Didn’t want me to think you were backsliding?”

Boyd just kissed him then picked up his carefully packed apple and took it into the living room, settling on the couch cross-legged. Raylan went for a glass and some ice. Boyd was sucking away at the bottom of the apple when he came into the room.

He coughed, sounding surprised, and half the smoke blew out of his mouth and nose. Raylan smirked. “Oh, shit, baby. This stuff is good,” he coughed harder.

“You sure it ain’t ‘cause it’s been ten years, darlin’?” Raylan asked. He sat down in the armchair opposite Boyd, who was still coughing.

“Maybe a little,” he croaked. “And ten years is making assumptions about what I used to do with my time when you weren’t around.”

Raylan took a sip of his drink, sinking down into his seat. It had been a long day. The smoke didn’t smell strong yet, not when he was across the room from Boyd, but it was faintly musky and something like welcome. “What?” he asked. “You were smoking up in my house by yourself?”

“Well, it wasn’t no after-school special material, if that’s what you’re thinking. I was tired from mining all day and I wanted to wind down a little. ‘Til my supplier started stiffing me, asking for more for the same quality, same amount--”

“Who? Johnny?” Boyd nodded as he took another hit. “What an asshole,” Raylan said through another fit of his coughing.

“Bet you he’d get me some for free, I ask him nowadays.” Boyd tilted his head, his smile spreading slow. “Or do I have to wait ‘til some shit falls out another fugitive’s pocket?”

Raylan laughed and didn’t answer. This was a special circumstance. He couldn’t be around it all the time. Boyd shrugged it off took, seemingly happy with what he had now.

“Well,” Boyd said, setting the pipe on the table and slouching down on the couch, “tell me about your accidental dealer.”

“Not much to tell. Broke parole, knocked over a gas station, holed-up in the basement of one of them...” he wiggled his fingers, “what do you call ‘em? Hookah bars?” Boyd nodded, grinning widely. “Don’t know why he thought no one was gonna find him there. He was pretty stoned when we got him.” Raylan smirked, sipped his drink, and shrugged, watching Boyd hold in his laughter over something that was really par for the course for the Eastern Kentucky U.S. Marshal’s office, and for Boyd to hear about.

“Goddammit,” Boyd laughed, pressing his hands to his eyes hard and letting them fall fast down, loose, to his lap. “This feels really good, you know?” he said, smiling at Raylan. “Ten years or no, it’s been a fucking while.”

Raylan didn’t know. Weed just made him tired, even when he did it in college, without Boyd, and he’d wake up with a hangover regardless of how much he drank. He smiled back anyway and replied, “I’m glad, darlin’.”

Boyd’s smile turned filthy, “I bet you are.”

Raylan scrunched his face up at his boy. 

It wasn’t like that. He just liked seeing Boyd with his defenses down. All of them, even the unconscious ones. He remembered that night he fell asleep to Boyd’s smile, he’d touched Raylan’s face, brushing the hair away from his eyes. Raylan had felt it. He’d never had a glimpse of that Boyd before.

Raylan blinked the memory away and found that Boyd was still looking at him, but with a sort of bewildered expression on his face, like something was wrong. “What?” Raylan asked cautiously.

“Why don’t we have any music playing, baby?” he asked, getting up from the couch.

Raylan watched him, taking a long sip from his glass as he moved over to the clock radio next to the tv and switched it on. His movements, his limbs, were as loose as his smile, and he almost ran into the coffee table, side-stepping it somewhat gracefully, just a split-second later than he usually would. 

“Shit,” Boyd was mumbling. He groaned. “They’re pledging again. It’s a fucking buzzkill.” He turned over his shoulder to look at Raylan. “Stop laughing at me. It is.”

Raylan stifled his grin and raised his eyebrows. “I agree, darlin’. ‘Member I told you I don’t like it on when we fuck? Have them asking us for money while I’m going down on you.”

Boyd closed his eyes. “Mmm,” he sort of sighed in agreement and turned the dial leisurely, listening as each station faded in and out, until he stopped to the rough hewn vocals of some familiar singer.

Raylan took a sip of his drink as Boyd made his way back to the couch. He picked up a stack of books from the floor on his way. “Who’s this?” Raylan asked.

“Tom Waits, baby,” Boyd replied, tilting his head like he was gonna hear better that way. Maybe he was. 

“Whatcho got?” Raylan asked next. Boyd was running his fingers across the spines and pages of the three paperbacks he had.

“Books,” he said with a smile like Raylan was an idiot.

“Which ones, asshole?” Raylan laughed.

Boyd’s eyes seemed to be wider than they usually were, but Raylan though it might be because his pupils were wider now. “I went to the library today,” he told Raylan.

“I can see that, Boyd. What did you get?” And Raylan could just see it coming.

“Books,” Boyd replied with a generous giggle that was really unlike him, full throated, but he had his hand over his mouth like a goddamn school girl, the books left unattended in his lap. 

Raylan picked himself up from the chair, swiped them as Boyd was still laughing and stepped away, just as he reached for them, saying, “It’s break now, baby, I got a week. Imma read me three books. It’s gonna be awesome.”

Raylan read the titles aloud. “The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, The Confessions of Saint Augustine, and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.”

“You wanna help me pick which one to read first?”

Raylan furrowed his brows at Boyd. “I thought you said that Stranger in a Strange Land was a load of Libertarian, Free Love, bullshit,” he asked skeptically. Raylan remembered, it was on his last break Boyd had picked that one up, on recommendation from one of his teachers.

Boyd grinned and reached for the pipe again. Raylan was about to ask him if he thought that was a good idea, then decided not to. He was reading books all week, he could do as he damn well pleased. Boyd said, “Yeah, but I love Libertarian bullshit, you know that. The Free Love bullshit is just bonus and the whole thing is fun as hell.”

“It didn’t sound that way when you finished the other one,” Raylan countered.

Boyd shrugged, palming that pink lighter. “It got a little sanctimonious, I suppose. That one’s about a revolution, though. Not a religion.”

“Oh and politics aren’t sanctimonious at all, huh?”

Boyd smiled enigmatically, with a lot of teeth, and lit the lighter. Raylan poured himself another drink.

“Raylan,” he sighed a moment later, blowing out the smoke. He didn’t cough this time and his smile was sleepy and wide. “I bet you we could get a girl. I haven’t had one in so long.” He tilted his head back past the arm of the sofa, exposing his jawline and neck. “A girl would be nice.” 

Raylan frowned. He supposed this subject change was on account of the Free Love thing. “You never said that was something you wanted too.”

Boyd shrugged and smiled again. “It ain’t somethin’ I think about a lot. I know you want it more. My mind don’t stray like I know yours does--” Some confusion or hurt must have come into Raylan’s expression--he knew he felt both sharply--because Boyd smiled wider, tilting his head to shake it as he added, “That’s just your nature, Raylan. Your mind’s restless. I love that about you. I know you wouldn’t.”

They never talk about this. Raylan didn’t know how Boyd knew that, what he thought about. He never said.

“I see you watching. I remember the want, comin’ off you when I talked about Winona.” He laughed. “What a girl she is. She’d do it too, I bet. She denied tryin’ to steal you to me. I think she would though, she wasn’t so nice.”

“I’m offended you’d think I’m liable to be stole, darlin’,” Raylan couldn’t keep the perturbation from his tone.

Boyd laughed at him again. “I don’t.” Then he pouted. “Come over here. I don’t wanna get up to love on you.”

Raylan quirked a smile of his own finally. “You’re really high, Boyd.”

“I want to touch your hands, Raylan.” His eyes were on them, rapt and wide.

Raylan crossed the room to him and the walk felt short. He set down his glass on the coffee table and straddled Boyd where he lay on the couch.

Whenever Boyd got really tired, or really drunk, he loved to talk about Raylan’s hands. Raylan supposed he should have found it flattering in some way, but he mostly thought it was funny and endearing. Boyd would usually call them beautiful and slide light fingers across his knuckles and palms and fingerprints, then he’d stick one or two of Raylan’s fingers into his mouth and suck on them until Raylan was hard and wanted to kiss him.

Tonight, he took Raylan’s hands in his and pressed them to his face, closing his eyes and breathing deep. His eyes came half open again and he asked, “Did you hold your gun today, Raylan?”

Raylan’s brows drew down. “Sure, darlin’,” he said carefully. “I do that everyday.”

Boyd moved Raylan’s hands--which Raylan was keeping very relaxed--one down to his neck and the other up to his hair. “Did you draw it on somebody?” Boyd asked, in a slow, hushed tone.

“I did, but not once they had their hands up,” Raylan answered, letting his voice fall naturally to a similar pitch.

Boyd made this little nodding motion with his head and he smiled like Raylan just made his day. "So you didn't shoot nobody?"

"No, Boyd," Raylan said, feeling like he lost his breath. There was a buzz up behind his eyes, making his vision a little blurry, more like hazy, as though he'd stepped into a dream. It looked like Boyd was giving off this glow, making him brighter. He smiled.

His hands felt strange, like they were lighter than normal. He rubbed his thumb across Boyd's jugular. Boyd swallowed reflexively.

"Your hands are powerful, Raylan. Did I ever tell you that?" Boyd's words vibrated from his throat to Raylan's fingers and he felt every syllable. He felt his dick get hard. He closed his eyes.

A touch from Boyd, just to his temple, lightly, drew them open again.

He was smiling like he just heard something funny. "You got a contact high, don't you, baby?"

“What?” he asked. 

“You do,” Boyd insisted softly and Raylan could still feel every word, he tightened his fingers around Boyd’s neck, not so hard. “Feels nice, don’t it?”

“Mmmm,” Raylan sighed, settling himself lower on Boyd, closer to his cock. He wanted it, caught his breath thinking about it.

“Touch me with them hands, baby,” Boyd was saying now. He leaned up, maybe fast, maybe slow, and pressed his lips to Raylan’s slightly opened mouth.

Raylan obliged.

He touched Boyd with his fingertips, threading them through his hair first with one hand and rubbing around his neck, and up into the fine hairs at the base of his skull with his other hand, flat, with the palm, his open skin. He felt amazing.

He drew his hands down then, slipping them under Boyd’s shirt, palms to the skin of his chest and stomach, curling his fingers then, drawing nails lightly across his shoulders, down to his nipples. He whimpered a little and moaned Raylan’s name.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Okay.”

He took his time, hands falling further to Boyd’s belt, then his fly. Boyd’s hands were at his, working faster, fumbling too much. They both hissed through their teeth and thrust their own pants down.

“Fuck me,” Boyd said. His voice sounded far away, but real nice somehow. His fingers were wrapped around Raylan’s cock. That was nice too.

“Yeah.” That was what he had in mind. 

He smiled real big and Boyd smiled too. “Man, that shit hit you hard, baby. You didn’t even smoke any.” He pressed his palm to Raylan’s face and Raylan leaned into it. “Maybe it was the booze too,” Boyd murmured. Raylan didn’t care.

“There’s no lube out here,” he said.

“Fuck it, we done it raw before.” Now he took Raylan’s fingers into his mouth, slicking them up with his spit. He hadn’t taken his other hand off Raylan’s cock the whole time.

Raylan slipped his fingers from Boyd’s mouth and let his tongue take their place as he began to work him open. Boyd grunted into his lips, pushing his hips up and into Raylan’s attentions. After a while of Raylan working him slow, then faster, he pushed hard and growled, “It’s good, baby. Come on now,” and just about yanked on Raylan’s cock.

“Ah, fuck,” he said, spat on his hand, and thrust up and inside his boy. 

The fabric of the couch was rough under his knees and everything that might have been sharp felt dulled, but strong, and really really good. Boyd was full of him and moaning with it and they jacked him off together, keeping Raylan’s slowly building pace.

Boyd kept cursing in a tone that was both hushed and loud to Raylan’s ears. He could feel the pressure of the noise of every breath out of their lungs and the strain in his muscles with every thrust, the strain in Boyd’s to meet him.

Boyd pushed up then, spreading his legs wider apart, desperately pressing their lips together, grasping hard at Raylan’s face, threading fingers into his hair and pulling tight. “Oh my God,” he said between licks and bites, letting one hand fall back to his cock pressed between them, “oh fuck, you taste amazing, baby.”

Raylan only moaned inarticulately in response, made dumb as everything seemed to draw together, stretching endlessly, turning inwards and expanding out, with the strain and the breaths and Boyd’s fingers across his lips. He could taste pre-come and sweat and Boyd--salty and wonderful and _rich_. 

He heard himself moan again and it felt like it filled the whole room and Boyd said, “Jesus, just come on me,” so Raylan pulled out just in time, jetting it all over Boyd’s stomach and chest.

When he was through, their hands were sticky, still intertwined on Boyd’s straining cock. He looked his boy right in the eye--Boyd’s were open wide and dilated almost black--before bending low over him and swallowing him down fast. Boyd’s hands came away from his cock as Raylan’s lips closed over it and his fingers splaying through Raylan’s hair again, smearing come all through the strands.

It didn’t take him long and Raylan swallowed it all and it tasted goddamn amazing.

He blew a breath out of his lungs along with the word, “shit,” when he pulled off, feeling giddy and still sort of high, he must have done it too fast, or with too much force, because he almost fell backwards off the damn couch.

Boyd snaked out a hand to steady him, sticky fingers, somehow soft at the crook of his shoulder, and pulled himself up into a sitting position. He was smiling real big, like he thought Raylan was the best, most funniest thing, in the whole fucking world. “You’re such a lightweight,” he murmured, voice as soft his his touch.

Raylan leaned into his hand and was guided up and forward into Boyd’s arms. He groaned and grunted, stretching his legs out to extend past the far arm of the couch, and pressed his face to Boyd’s mostly dry shoulder.

“Just a contact high an’ you’re gonna pass out on me.”

Raylan didn’t have enough energy to say this was always what happened. He just closed his eyes and mumbled, “Sex was nice.”

He felt Boyd’s laugh through his chest. “Damn right it was.” His fingers were in Raylan’s hair again.

Some time might have passed, Raylan didn’t really know, but soon Boyd said, “Oh, shit, you’re gonna kill me tomorrow if we fall asleep here.”

Raylan didn’t respond, except to curl tighter around his boy, but Boyd slid out from under him somehow and tugged incessantly at his arm. He mumbled something about work in the morning.

“Fuck, baby, it’s only ten o’clock. Let’s get cleaned up, huh?”

Raylan didn’t move other than to shake his head. He was good, tired, but good.

“Jesus, Raylan, I will blow you in the shower if I don’t have to fucking carry you there.”

Raylan opened his eyes in the bathroom, leaning against the tiled wall. He heard Boyd turning on the water. “When did we get in here?” he asked, mumbling and rubbing at his face.

Boyd snorted. “Took me like five whole minutes, carting you in here. Next time, baby, I’m gonna remind you not to drink when there’s weed around.”

Raylan flipped him off, but felt unaccountably bad about it as Boyd helped him into the shower and under the warm spray.

Boyd touched his face again and he opened his eyes. He didn’t remember consciously closing them. The light, which had been bright almost to the point of pain before, even with the dinginess of the old white tile, was turned down--Boyd had flicked off the overhead light, leaving only the small one above the sink. Raylan felt a grateful smile split his face.

“I love you so much,” he said. Boyd just laughed at him. He had a washcloth in his hand, soaking and covered in soap.

Boyd drew the washcloth down Raylan’s front, across his chest and stomach, trailing suds, as Raylan reached for his face.

"You know me," he replied, smiling softly and looking into Raylan’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Raylan said, almost hurriedly. He licked his lips feeling something--all his love for Boyd--rush up in him, powerful and faster than he’d ever felt it before. It rushed up so fast, it came pouring out of his mouth. “And I’m so, so, happy you’re here with me Boyd and that you’re, like--you’re doing something for yourself now and--making changes, even though it seems like I don’t like ‘em, I do--”

“You don’t like what?” Boyd was looking at him sort of funny, and he pulled Raylan forward under the showerhead to rinse him off. Raylan had gotten chilled from stepping out of the fall of the water to let Boyd move around better, but the water was warm now as the soap streamed off him and the dim light and Raylan’s hazy vision ringed Boyd’s face in this weirdly beautiful halo.

“Making changes,” Raylan told him. “I like--no, I love it when you make ‘em. For yourself, not just for me. Because you want to...” He grinned, because he couldn’t help it and he pulled Boyd close to him. “It’s fucking beautiful--it’s so great and I-I just love you so much, darlin’.”

Boyd started to laugh as Raylan kissed him, again and again, small, immediate, smacks of confession, and he pulled away when Raylan moved to slide his tongue in. “Oh my God, baby,” he said, exasperated, cradling Raylan’s face in his hands and pressing their foreheads together before pulling slightly away. 

Raylan blinked. “What?” It all came out so fast, still felt like coming, too. Had he said something weird?

Boyd shook his head. “You’re just being really sweet.” 

“I’m serious, Boyd,” Raylan insisted, frowning. He wasn’t sure why Boyd wasn’t taking him seriously. “Like, really serious.”

Boyd was beaming. “I know. It’s lovely.”

“I just--”

Boyd cut him off, “Let’s get dry, huh? And get to bed.”

Raylan let himself be pushed out of the shower, with Boyd’s somehow steady hands stopping him from tripping on the tub and the bath mat. “I’m just--it’s really good to see you doing something for yourself, Boyd,” he paused to take a towel from Boyd’s outstretched hand and frown because his boy still looked like he was holding back laughter. “Because you spent so much time, all those years, doing things for me--or because you thought it was what I wanted, and I--” He stopped himself and asked, “You know I’m talking about school right? About how you’re in school?”

Boyd snorted now, and pulled his head down a little to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Baby, I know what you’re talking about.”

“Then what the hell are you laughing for?” He was still dripping wet.

“Raylan, dry off now. I’m laughing because, like you, I’m still pretty high and you’re being goddamn adorable. I know you’re happy I’m here and that I ain’t in the mine no more and that I’m learning how to do things that I like to do, instead of things I have to. You brought me home a bag of weed from a crime scene, for Christ’s sake--and you don’t even like getting stoned. Not to mention it’s sort of _illegal_.” Boyd was shaking his head at Raylan in something like wonderment. “You think you can make it to the bed without my assistance? I’m gonna get us some water, so you don’t kill me over a hangover in the morning.”

Raylan huffed and began to dry off in earnest. He was all right. He wasn’t even tired anymore.

Boyd sauntered out into the kitchen, just in his towel, and Raylan frowned some more about being laughed at. How was he supposed to know Boyd knew all that, when Raylan himself had never said any such thing? Well, he’d said shades of it, like “I’m so glad you’re here,” and he was real interested when they talked about Boyd’s school, but he thought it was better to get it out, because he was feeling it so much. He felt weird about Boyd laughing. He wasn’t trying to be cute or gain points or whatever. He just wanted to...to tell him.

“Raylan, you are dry. Come to bed now,” Boyd called from the bedroom.

“Fuck.”

Raylan didn’t bother with the towel as he came into the bedroom. He stood at the end of the bed and put his hands on his hips. “I’m not tired anymore, darlin’,” he said.

Boyd eyes roamed over him casually, his eyelids were heavy and his smile was still wide. “Well, look at you,” he drawled. He lifted a foot to draw his toes up and down Raylan’s thigh. “You probably are too tired. Come here.”

Raylan frowned. "Don't tell me I'm tired when I ain't."

"I'd tell you not to pout, but it's too cute on you," Boyd said, smiling. When Raylan huffed, he added, "You're just feeling sensitive on account of you're high. Don't mind it. Everything's fine. Come here, Raylan."

Raylan went.

It felt so good to be next to Boyd, to slide in, skin to skin, that they both sighed with it and smiled.

“I love you,” Boyd said, like it jumped from his mouth, and it was Raylan’s turn to laugh.

"How do you like it?" he asked.

"I love it," Boyd answered. "You're beautiful.". Boyd pulled his hand up between their snug bodies and drew Raylan's eyelids down like they were shades in a window. "Now go to sleep."

Unsurprisingly, it didn't take him long to drift off.

 

Raylan woke before his alarm and switched it off, disgustedly. Boyd rolled over beside him, not usually so sensitive to his movements in bed in the morning. He blinked his eyes open and Raylan said, “Go back to sleep.”

Boyd smiled and shook his head, running a hand across Raylan’s arm propped up on the mattress. “We went to bed early. I was awake, just lying here.”

Raylan tried not to frown. He wished he’d remembered better how easy it was for him to be affected by that shit. In college, when he was around it, he’d take a hit for the sake of politeness, if it was offered, and he’d either be sick or fall asleep, or both. If it wasn’t offered, he’d leave for another party or just go home. He’d never had a contact high before--had sort of forgotten it was a thing you could have.

“You okay?” Boyd asked him. His voice was quiet, concerned. Boyd’s tone felt like a rarity, like something he hadn’t heard in a while, but only because they’d been going so good for a long time now. Lately, it felt like nothing was ever wrong.

Raylan shook his head and tried for a smile. Nothing was actually wrong. He was pretty sure he was being weird about the whole thing--but then, doubt was nagging at the back of his mind.

He thought of saying something like, “I was pretty high, huh?” But it would sound stupid and insecure. Yes, he had definitely been pretty high. There wasn’t any doubt about that.

He planted his feet on the floor at the side of the bed and leaned forward, rubbing at his face. Boyd reached out to rub at his back. “Baby,” he said and that was all.

“It’s fine,” he said, and wanted to get up, but Boyd’s hand was still on his back. If he moved away, Boyd would know there really was something wrong--which, there wasn’t. He wasn’t even hungover.

“But you’re not,” Boyd said, shifting on the bed and wrapping his arms around Raylan’s shoulders from behind. Boyd let his chin fall to Raylan’s shoulder, his lips not far from Raylan’s ear. “You think I can’t tell?” he said softly.

Sometimes, Raylan thought, it was Boyd who could be the asshole, but he was always a smart-ass about it too, which was worse.

“You’re so smart,” he grumbled. “You tell me why I might not be okay.” 

Boyd glanced at him sidelong and it looked for a moment like he might decline to play along, but then one side of his mouth quirked just a little and he answered, “Well, you ain’t holding your head, or wincing at everything like you’re hungover. Can’t be worried about your boss or the rest of the Marshals finding out.” Boyd tilted his head to the side, looking only at Raylan’s profile because he didn’t want to twist around to look Boyd in the face. “I remember what happened pretty clear, except the fucking might be a little hazy--”

Raylan couldn’t help but smile at that. “But that was the best part, darlin’,” he said, finally turning to look in his eyes. It had been. I had been so good.

“Yeah, I remember _that_ about it,” Boyd pulled him closer and Raylan naturally twisted around to face him. He raised a hand to comb the hair off Raylan’s forehead with his fingers. “Don’t think it was anything I did,” he said, then frowned. “So it must be something you think you did.”

Raylan never should have asked him.

He looked away and admitted. “I’m not sure I...made myself clear, about what I meant when I was talking to you about school in the shower last night, darlin’.”

Boyd pulled slightly away, clearly surprised. “Really? ‘Cause you spent a lot of time making sure I got what you were saying, baby.” He smiled widely. “It was real sweet. I told you that.”

Raylan licked his lips, uncertain. “I just want to make sure that you--” He broke off and tried a different tactic. “Do you remember when we were at Art’s Christmas Party thing?”

It had ended up being all people Raylan and Boyd didn’t know because Tim was an anti-social asshole and Rachel had been busy and Art was notorious for working too much, so the party was really only his wife’s friends. They had gone because they’d made an agreement not to be so weird about being out together when Boyd had moved up to Lexington, but it was sort of disaster anyway.

“No, baby. I forgot the only thing we did for Christmas besides your actual office party, six months after it happened.”

Raylan huffed and continued like he hadn’t said anything, “And that lady came up to us as we were going for the door, because she saw me put my hat on--”

“Raylan, yes, I remember this. What is your point?”

“When you mentioned school,” though it had been obvious she’d only wanted to talk to them because she knew who Raylan was, and by default Boyd, as Art’s dear wife was something of a mild gossip and told her friends about office shit more than Raylan thought she ought. “And she threw you that condescending smile and said, ‘isn’t that great for you, getting your life together?’”

Boyd was looking at Raylan blankly, but Raylan knew he remembered, so he forged on, “I just want to make sure that you know-- _that’s_ not what I meant, Boyd, that’s not how I think about what you’re doing and I really, really don’t want you to ever think that it was.”

Boyd sat back, his expression serious now, and sincere. “Raylan, that woman was an asshole. Of course you don’t think my life was in some kind of shambles before I moved down here. I know you know better than that. A lot better. What the fuck?”

Raylan sighed and shook his head. “I was just... worried it didn’t come out right.”

Boyd frowned harder at him for just a moment, then quickly grinned. “You can’t remember exactly what you said, can you?”

“I know what I was thinking about,” Raylan huffed. “It just... might’ve come out weird.”

“Well, it didn’t.” Boyd leaned into him again and pressed his lips to Raylan’s cheek, lightly. “I get you, baby. Even if it did sound like that--which it didn’t--I know you don’t think about it that way. Man, you were so pissed that night. _Remember_ I told you it was fine? I been dealing with being misunderstood by almost everyone besides you for my entire life, Raylan. I don’t give a damn. At all.”

“Well, I do.”

“And I fucking love that.” Boyd smiled. “Now you’re gonna be late for work.”

Raylan swore and shoved away from him quickly, standing and pulling on his pants like it was their fault.

Boyd flopped over on the bed where Raylan had just left and rolled around in the sheets, watching him get frantically dressed. “I can bring you lunch today, if you want,” he said.

“You gonna make it for me, too?” Raylan asked, brows raised as he stepped into the bathroom. “Thought you were gonna read all them books.”

Raylan had turned on the water to brush his teeth and wash his face, so Boyd knew better than to answer him just then. When he walked back out, Boyd had a tie in his hand--a dark blue one that they’d picked out last fall when Boyd was complaining all his ties were black or ugly. 

Boyd stepped up to him and slung the tie around his collar, doing it up fast and smooth as he said, “I got all week for three books. I can spare some time for lunch. And I’ll pick you up chinese or something if you want.” He looked into Raylan’s eyes. The tie was tied and snug across his throat. “No more leftover rice for you,” he said softly.

“You gonna smoke the rest of that bud while I’m not around?”

“Only if you want me to,” Boyd said.

Raylan figured he had one more day of leeway before things got really risky for a drug test. He kissed Boyd soundly, twining their fingers together around where Boyd was still holding onto his tie. “Get the chinese. I’ll text you when I think I can get off. And save the other thing for when I get back.”

“That mysterious thing?”

Raylan smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to Thornfield girl for beta reading and listening to me whine about how I don't know anything about weed. 
> 
> It should be noted that a true contact high is a psychological phenomenon that people experience while being in close proximity to someone on drugs but are actually not on drugs themselves. 
> 
> The contact high mentioned and experienced by Raylan in this fic is a misuse of the term and a common one at that. It's a thing that definitely does exists, as are variations of tolerance and THC sensitivity.


End file.
